


What Doesn't Kill You

by kingburu



Category: Runaways, Young Avengers
Genre: Death, F/M, In which Tommy gets a lot of feels, M/M, Moving On, Sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 00:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingburu/pseuds/kingburu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassie's dead. Vision's dead. Tommy <i>runs. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Running

Running. Tommy likes to think it's a talent. It's the difference between running into battle and running away though, he thinks, that really separates people.

"You should come with us."

But for Molly Hayes and Chase and Nico and the rest of them, running away is how they survive. They do both: run away and run into battle. They're broken, Tommy thinks. Anyone even slightly _adult-like_ —Avenger-ish—and trust immediately flies out the window.

A little girl with an awesome hat and incredible strength stares at him. The ketchup from the cheeseburger Tommy's bought stains her cheek and glows as she smiles. Molly looks as though she hasn't had a proper meal in three days (and she probably hasn't.) She's on her third burger and Tommy his second.

He runs her words through his mind again and can't help but laugh.

Molly pouts. "Why not? The Leap Frog could use an extra passenger, and I like you."

Obviously, he can't go. "There's—" Nothing that's stopping him. "I have—" Nothing, no one waiting for him in New York. "I'm a—" Runaway, incidentally. From juvie, from his parents, who are sort of evil. Tommy thinks about it. "I'm…" He'd fit in perfectly.

The Runaways (a name coined by Cassie before her passing—Tommy thinks he's able to hide his trembling hand under the table, but knows he couldn't after Molly grabs it) is everything Tommy thought of while in juvie. He used to dream of breaking out, run as far away as possible, then come back to take revenge on every person that ever hurt him. He never saw himself as a good person—the 'T' in his name usually stood for _Troublemaker._

He was once a kleptomaniac. Once in a gang. Once fucked things up so badly so his parents would stop arguing for at least five seconds in order to bail him out of trouble.

What changed all of that? He wonders. What turned Tommy the Troublemaker to Tommy the Good Samaritan? (Where did he pick up the word ' _Samaritan'_?) The questions run through his mind like a cyclone and Molly's proposal yanks his heart away.

"We've talked about it," Molly beams. Her tiny hand holds his tightly and the thirteen-year-old steals his French fries. "You come and find us once a week, anyway. And last time you saved me and Klara from a thug, and 'lina thinks you're _precious_ , and Chase thinks there aren't enough guys on the team."

"Oh," is all Tommy can say through his astonishment.

"We help people. And you still want to help people," Molly concludes. "We can help people together."

It's amazing how in a few words, Molly has always been able to cheer him up. The way she smiles, the way she acts—it's _crazy._ There's slight desperation in her voice, and Tommy wonders how long they've discussed his…possible joining. He loves the time spent with Molly, acting like a big brother to a little sister.

 _Big brother._ Then it clicks.

"I have Billy to think about," Tommy mutters.

"You mean the magician that never notices you're around?" Molly asks. "He doesn't even make doves come out of his hat!"

Tommy smiles weakly. "Billy doesn't wear a hat."

"Just think about it," Molly replies. "'Cause _I_ really want you with us."

"I will," Tommy promises. The scary thing is, he thinks he might.

**xxx**

December's cold this time of year, particularly in New York. The PJ pants and stolen sweatshirt from Altman's side of the closet won't cut it for very long, especially if Tommy keeps wearing out the hole in one of the sleeves. The Flash pants are practically paper-thin as he trudges across the country, knee-deep in ten-states of different snow, but worth it. As a late and mock-Hanukah gift from the mini-Kaplans (as Tommy affectionately called Billy's younger brothers), he's worn them all winter. The bright yellow rain boots given by Altman, however, may be overkill. Being a speedster, Tommy _hates_ the snow.

He stops in Rhode Island at 2AM for hot cocoa, lingers outside a gas station, and pretends to be a hobo. After walking Molly back to the Runaways' current hideout (somewhere in a weird Pride cellar beneath San Francisco Bay), Nico and Chase, the presumed leaders of the group had pulled him in for a discussion, too.

_"I think it'd be wicked cool to have a speedster on the team," Chase grinned. He's happier now. Molly mentioned when they first met something about a girl named Gert—but the way Nico and Chase hold onto each other, hands intertwined and eyes solid, Tommy's sure they've both found stability._

_"Thanks," Tommy offered. "But I can't." He has a (slow) life back in New York with an (inattentive, traumatized) brother and (no) parents who would worry if he was gone._

_"We…know you're still hurting," Nico said quietly. It takes a moment, but Tommy reminds himself how close he's gotten to this team. When she pecks him on the cheek and Chase doesn't show any sign of jealousy, he knows they've accepted him. "And if you need someone to talk to…we're here, okay?"_

Three months.

In three days, it will be exactly three months since Wanda Maximoff was found, since the Young Avengers was disbanded—since the death of Stature and Vision. Of Cassie and Jonas.

They were never that close. Kate was their peacemaker. She knocked sense into Teddy, Billy, and Eli, made Jonas feel _human_ , and was a great big sister to Cassie. (Tommy would never say it aloud, but she was a great sister to him, too.) But she and Eli—they were as visible as Cassie and Jonas.

Every evening Tommy dreams that the Young Avengers is still alive. And every night, they turn into _nightmares_ , chasing after him as he runs. Blood sheds, screams echo in darkness. As the sounds end, Tommy sees red in his vision. He wakes up doused in sweat, terror, and absolute, trembling fear.

If only he was _fast_ enough. If only he _paid attention._ If only he'd just _noticed_ , instead of being so caught up in his _mother._ If only…if only it'd never happened.

It's the thought of losing two of his closest friends that sometimes makes Tommy wish he'd never left juvie.

Before even finishing the hot cocoa, Tommy squeezes the cup in his hand, allows scalding hot liquid to burn his hand, and throws the cup into the trash. He restarts his run back up to New York City, and hopes that _this_ will be the race where he outruns his fears.

He misses crime-fighting. Misses having a purpose in life, rather than sitting around in some school that doesn't think he's important in a class too difficult to keep his attention struggling for good grades. Tommy misses the wind in his hair, running with _freedom_ , and—and seeing that little kid with all the joy on his face as he hugs Speed, the superhero, with his tiny arms and mucus-y tears saying thank you, over and over.

Maybe…

His heart palpates.

Maybe Molly and Nico and Chase have a point.

Maybe he should be a Runaway.

Forty-five minutes later as he makes it to the outskirts of New York, he dumps all the snow from bright yellow rain boots and pulls the hood off his hair. Breathing white puff-balls, Tommy prolongs the trip back to the Kaplan Household as much as he can. Christmas lights glow in the dark, along with singing Santas and animated reindeers that "run" along the roofs of many stores.

At 3:23AM, Tommy climbs the fire-escape of the apartment building and dusts fat drops of snow from his face. He shivers, pulling sleeves of Altman's large jacket over cold hands, and pulls up the ladder until he makes it to the right balcony. His window— _Altman and his_ —catches his eye, along with the complete and utter darkness. Dark green curtains are pulled back, giving bright view of the two mattresses set parallel to one another on either side of the room. One large lump throws Tommy off, but he ignores it.

Pressing hands against the window, he sucks in a deep breath and vibrates— _Pleasedon'texplodepleasedon'texplode_ —into the room.

The house is silent. _Thank god._

He takes one more look at Altman's bed as he strips down to the essentials—his boxers—and frowns at the lone figure curled in sheets.

"Thanks for keeping the curtains open," Tommy mutters to no one in particular. "Fucking hell vibrating through those." With a final breath for the night, Tommy throws himself into his bed and closes his eyes.

"You're home later than usual," comes a groggy reply.

Tommy smiles against his pillow. "Late dinner with Molly."

He ignores the way his heart skips a beat (or seven) as Altman's mattress makes a symphony of squeaks. It's become a nightly ritual of theirs; Tommy running away in the middle of the night and Teddy waiting up for him, no matter how late he comes back.

Because he _always_ comes back. (He'll never say aloud, how good that feels and how he likes this ritual.)

"Why do you run out every night?" Teddy asks in a hoarse and tired voice. "Mrs. Kaplan knows I know, too. Even if you're quiet and all."

Tommy's face grows hot as he buries it in his pillow. As he tries to ignore Billy's boyfriend and feign sleep.

"You can talk to me," Teddy murmurs tiredly. The warmth in his voice, Tommy will never say makes his mind flutter and cheeks tingle.

, "I run to outrun the nightmares."

Somehow it still makes him sound like an idiot. A bomb drops and his heart pounds.

Teddy is thoughtfully silent before he mutters, "Oh."

"Running makes me feel…feel _alive._ It's what I _am._ " Tommy sits up, feeling the strange need to defend himself. The words are tumbling out of his mouth before he can filter them. Staring Altman in the dark, he feels anxious for a response.

What catches him off guard is the silence following his declaration. The sound of Teddy's steady breathing fills his ears. Slowly but surely, Altman's hand moves for the lamp. Light illuminates the room like a burst of flames and Teddy's face, strong and firm with vivid blue eyes and a natural, ashy sanguine that highlights his cheek bones, stare Tommy in the eye. Blond hair sticks up in chaotic cowlicks and a clumsy smile stretches across Teddy's lips.

Makes Tommy feel self-conscious. He catches his breath and tries to ignore the pounding in his heart. Lamely, in hopes of finding his voice, he turns away and elaborates. Tries to, anyway.

"Every time I close my eyes, I…" he stops short. "I keep wondering why I wasn't fast enough."

Teddy makes a sound. "That's like asking why Hawkette didn't have enough arrows."

"It wouldn't have been possible to—"

"Or why Patriot couldn't block the attack."

"Those aren't his—"

"Or why I didn't turn into some giant serpent thing and choke Doom so Cassie didn't try and take him on."

It's the inner child in Tommy that makes him go, "There's no fucking way you have that power."

Teddy shrugs. He laughs loudly at the accusation and it's enough to make Tommy smile despite himself. The half-skrull prince's voice is an inviting tenor that only makes the surface of Tommy's skin tingle, and as they laugh the night away, he can't help but feel just a little bit lighter.

They enter another silence. Teddy's breathing, Tommy's heart beat—that's all to be heard, and once again Tommy succumbs to his earlier musings. Outside the wind howls, and there's no doubt that within the hour another foot of snow will accompany the ground.

"Do you really have to run? Every night, for the past three months?" Teddy whispers.

 _Three months._ Beneath the duvet, his hands are shaking.

"What's it to you?" Tommy asks, though accidentally snapping.

"Nothing," Teddy says quickly. There's a weary edge to his voice that reminds Tommy of the old days—the _good_ days when the gang was still a gang. Unfortunately it's lost its vigor since then.

He and Teddy. They talk now. _A lot_ more than Tommy ever did with his old friends, and before the Young Avengers were disbanded. He's as good of conversation as Molly is, sometimes better because he actually _gets_ it (and sometimes worse because there are just some things too personal that make Tommy too scared to tell. Like now.)

"Sometimes I shapeshift," Teddy admits quietly in the dark.

Tommy snorts. "You do it in your sleep all the time."

"No. I mean…I shapeshift, to Hulkling." Oh. "To other things." Teddy's human flesh glows intensely against the dim light and through dusk, Tommy makes out the definition of green scales. "I know I grew up thinking that I was…you know, human. But it's still…"

"Part of your blood," Tommy finishes for him. He lies on his back and stares at the ceiling; to the corny glow-in-the-dark stars Mrs. Kaplan put up there a week after the incident.

 _Count the stars if you can't fall asleep_ , she explained to them months ago. _They're supposed to help relieve stress. I know you three have a lot of it._

There's forty-two of them. Tommy's counted at least seventy times over the past week.

He can't help but feel more comfortable than he did originally after Teddy's confession. He feels relieved that he's not the only one needing that thrill, needing that sanity. Blood only courses through his veins whenever he can run. No one ever understands— _will_ understand how hard it is for him to sit still. Being Speed, being a superhero was like having a toy he'd never get tired of. Something to love, since everyone else was too busy with their own agendas.

Then in an instant, it was all taken away from him. And Tommy wants nothing more than to _get it back._

He's tired, on the verge of sleep.

In his sleepy musings, he asks, "If you had the chance, would you run away? Become a superhero again? Be Hulkling?"

Silence. Nothing but the howling of snow outside to keep him company, and as Tommy's sure their nightly ritual has come to an end—

"I'd love to be a superhero again." Teddy Altman continues to surprise him. With a _click_ the lamp is turned off. "But I'd never be able to leave Billy."

_Billy. Billy, Billy, Billy._

"Right," Tommy murmurs as the last word for the night. He's sure that Teddy knows that ' _Right_ ' in Tommy-nese dictionary means ' _Me neither'_ in Altman-speak.

"Mm," is all the sound Teddy makes before they both end the conversation for good.

Tommy decides not to mention, how odd Billy isn't anywhere near their room on this particular night. Like the past week, really.

**xxx**

A large hand shakes Tommy awake in the morning. It rests on his shoulder and jerks violently until he makes an unintelligent sound of awareness. " _Aghh_."

"Sorry," Teddy mutters apologetically. "Did you wear my sweatshirt last night?"

"Yes."

"Where did you throw it?"

"Over there."

"Uh."

"At your feet, dumbass." Tommy sits up from the bed and flushes as the look of confusion given to him so early in the morning. He bends over the mattress with an orchestra of back cracks and reveals the red hoodie in a crumpled mess right next to the Flash PJ pants.

"Thanks." Teddy pulls it over his person and pauses. "Did you wear a hole in one of the sleeves?"

"You make it sound like I steal all of your jackets." Tommy flops against is pillow and ignores the puzzled look he gets. Silence. Confusion. In a cracked voice and lamed attempt to regain his dignity, he announces, " _Good night._ Have fun in school. Whatever."

His roommate is apparently standing there for a while. Five minutes later, Teddy is making arbitrary noises between brushing his teeth and shuffling through a messy pile of homework. The door squeaks open, signaling his departure, when Tommy picks up on Teddy's last sentence.

"…smells just like you." The door shuts.

The second time he wakes up to the sun beaming through the window and the scent of pancakes wafting through the house. Tommy gets up groggily, stomach groaning and vision bleary, before toppling off the bed and into nice carpeting.

Rebecca Kaplan is at the end of his mattress, holding both the pancakes and glass of orange juice. "Good morning."

"Morning." Waking up to Mrs. Kaplan's face rarely ever ended with good news. He grabs the plate of food thankfully and slices a fork through

"When were you going to tell me you didn't go to school?"

Tommy freezes. He stuffs his face until he looks like a giant white chipmunk with a mouth full of acorns and looks in the other direction. A quick mumble leaves his lips, meaning to be a positive reason, but instead coming out as, " _Argh._ "

"Come again?"

Swallow. "IsaidIaminschool."

"No, you're not."

"YesIam _._ "

"So reports of a school combusting wouldn't somehow make it on the 6 o'clock news?" Rebecca asks wryly. There's a look she rarely uses on Billy or Teddy or even the little ones. Just Tommy. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere."

"5 o'clock," Tommy corrects pathetically. His shoulders slump. From the corner of his eye the clock glows 10:32AM, two hours too late for school to start. Rebecca watches him sternly and he automatically peaks. "I tried the school thing. Itsuckedokay?"

With their powers, Teddy and Billy had it easy. Sitting in small spaces again directly after his time in juvie freaked him out. Sitting still freaked him out _more._ Sometimes it's just a speedster thing people don't understand.

"I've heard the same thing from Billy, honey." The pet name makes his skin crawl. "But you're just going to have to deal with it." Rebecca's a very strong woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue.

"You'renotmymother."

Silence. Tommy wonders if Billy's ever said the same thing. And how harsh it sounds, coming from Rebecca Kaplan's son's look-alike.

"I'm not," She looks to Tommy beneath her glasses and sighs softly at his reaction. "But you're still going to school."

"Dammit."

**xxx**

"You aren't in school?" Chase cocks an eyebrow.

"Why do you think I come here all the time? Dumbass." Tommy plops onto their couch and crosses his arms.

Chase mocks the pose and shrugs. "I just figured you ditched every day." They battle for the remote until Tommy comes out victor. Chase curses as Tommy grins. "That might be a bad idea if you plan on joining our team."

The speedster halts and falters. "I never said that I was joining the Runaways."

"Runa—?" Chase cocks his head. "So you're going to school then."

"No. Fuck school."

"Then you'll join the team?"

"What makes you think I'm joining? _Agh._ "

"Because you've already visited us three times this week? In the middle of the day?" Reaching over, Chase pops a can of coca-cola and hands a second one to the younger teen. "You ran here to discuss things instead of complaining to, uh, what's his name?"

"Hulkling. Well," Tommy shrugs. "Teddy Altman. Sometimes Theodore. Sometimes Alty, if I piss him off the right amount."

"Right. Your boyfriend."

An unintelligent noise leaves Tommy's throat. "Billy's boyfriend."

"Oh. Right." The channel changes to Nickelodeon as Chase feigns disinterest. When he looks back, Tommy's glaring. "What? Honest mistake!" _Punch._ "Ow!"

"He's _not_ my boyfriend you jackass!"

"Okay, okay! You know, for a runner, you pack a fucking whallop." Cradling his jaw, Chase groans. "You go to him whenever you need to blow off steam, don't you?"

"He's…in school." Tommy grumbles. It's a lame excuse. "Mrs. Kaplan is getting all the paperwork done. I'll be going to their school sometime this week. Maybe tomorrow."

"And you felt the need to vent over here?"

"It seemed appropriate."

"It's six in the morning!"

"Then why are _you_ up?" Tommy shoves the remote in the other teen's face and hides his blush under hunched shoulders.

Chase stares him in the eye. Hard. "I never went to sleep."

Oh. The conversation sobers and they fall into an awkward silence. For the past few months Chase became the big brother Tommy wished he'd have growing up. They ragged on one another when given the chance, fought over Molly's wellbeing, and criticized the hell out of the other. Eventually, learning about the death and how Tommy came from a sick and twisted school that turned him into a labrat, there came respect.

This kind of silence, Tommy can respect. Like a nice older brother, Chase pats him on the back with a large hand and asks, "You still have nightmares about Cassie and Victor's brother from another lab-dude?"

_Blood curdling screams. Hums of vaporizers._

Tommy tucks his legs into his chest. "Sometimes." He doesn't notice he's trembling until Chase takes the coke from his hand. "Does it ever get any easier?"

Chase shrugs. "Depends on who."

That probably means no. Tommy flops onto couch cushions and shudders. Tries not to suffocate. "Sometimes I wish I could run away like I did from juvie. I could walk away and just never worry about _anything._ Except for being Speed and stuff."

"You could," Chase reminds him. He moves onto his fourth can of coca-cola. "There would finally be a good number of guys on the team. Klara and Molly love you already and Karolina could coax you into your borderline homosexuality…what? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Promptly that morning, the cellar was awoken by the sound of exploding coca-cola cans and the sight of Nico's boyfriend in a headlock by a very much smaller, angrier speedster.

**xxx**

Later (out of guilt and amusement) Tommy tags along as Nico and Karolina do their weekly shopping for supplies. One is preoccupied with finding a tofu recipe book and the other massages her forehead in attempt to overcome the headache given by a very loud boyfriend. Tommy's in charge of which state to run them to.

"You should join," Nico concludes. Her lipstick is blood red and eyeliner is done in a way that looks like wings. As they wait at the front of the bakery while Karolina inspects fresh loaves of bread, Tommy almost feels odd not being dressed like Speed. "That way you can knock some sense into Chase as many times as you want."

"You don't think it's mean that I shoved coke down his pants and made it spontaneously combust?" He snickers. She laughs.

"You cleaned up the mess, didn't you?"

As she smiles, Tommy can't help but smile. "Chase told you, didn't he? Rebecca realized I've been bumming around for the past month and a half and is now enrolling me into school."

"That just strikes a question," Nico mutters. She fiddles through a barrel full of fancily decorated oven mittens and reveals a black pair with sequined skulls. They both gag. "Why haven't you been in school the past few months?"

Tommy sucks in a breath. Chase's accusation makes sense—he's more likely to ditch school than to drop out. _The sounds of whirling machinery and sensation of needles stabbing into his skin_ —almost makes him lose attention.

"Tommy?" Nico asks gently.

"Itjustdidn'tworkout," he mutters speedily and rushes to Karolina's side.

She smiles. "Hey."

"Hey."

"So are you going to join the team?"

"I have school." Lamely.

The statement manages to stop Karolina earlier on than it did Molly, Chase, or Nico. Karol sighs dreamily as she digs for her wallet. She places a crisp five dollar bill on the counter and hugs herself. Sadness drifts across her pretty face; Tommy can't help but feel responsible.

"What's wrong?" he asks. Leaning against the counter, he ignores the cashier's complaints and pushes a lock of pretty blond hair behind her ear.

Karolina is as delicate as the rest of the Runaways, Tommy thinks. She's tall and beautiful, but frail and worn. Her blond hair pours behind her as a waterfall and eyes shimmer with depression. She hugs herself and looks to him dreamily. "School. I used to hate going to school. I'd give anything, now, to go back to my teachers and do _homework_ and be…you know, a normal kid."

 _Normal._ The thought swells in Tommy's head, and he can't help but feel awkward. He's heard twenty different versions of the story—of how almost a year and a half ago, six kids met up like they did each year because of their parents, and stumbled upon something that they shouldn't have. Their only choice? _Surrender and accept weird world domination or runaway._ Tommy's been on the end of a decision he'd never wanted to make—they aren't pretty.

And at least when he was Speed, there was a h…home he was able to return to, with the Kaplans. But, after running around the world, the thrill of adventure pulsing through his veins and adrenaline pumping through his calves, he can't tell anymore—is the real identity Tommy, and Speed the superhero, or is Speed who he really is?

"Being normal is overrated," Tommy says after a moment of contemplation. He splits into a sly smirk, pushes off the counter, and steals the two measly sacks of groceries near the cash register. He juggles them in his hands as Karol laughs and pays, and wobbles beside her toward the door.

"I never thought that I'd miss the smell of text books," Karolina jokes as they exit the bakery.

Nico turns around to greet them and grabs one of the bags out of Tommy's hands. She looks to them in confusion, then back to Tommy. "So you're going to school then?"

"Well…" Tommy's getting tired of this question. He thinks back to what he told Rebecca—she's _not_ his mother…but he wonders, if Billy's ever said the same thing to her. Guilt flutters through him and he groans. "I can't _not_ go."

Karolina pitches in. "So…you're not going to join the team then?"

"I never said that."

"So," Nico pesters, "You _are_ going to join the team?"

"I never said that, either!"

"What's it going to take to get you to join the team then?" The Runaways leader looks to him with dismay, clearly upset with the ordeal. Personally, Tommy isn't sure what to say. It was only yesterday that he was extended the invitation—from the _youngest_ member, of all people, to become a Runaway. He's the one that refused—to at least thinking about becoming one. But there's Billy…and Altman, and Kate. They need him more than the Runaways do.

But—he thinks, as he looks to both Nico and 'Lina, both whose eyes are planted to him—do they think— _know_ —that… _he_ needs them? Is that?

Oh, _fuck._

He opens his mouth to speak—

—and never gets the chance.

"MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAA! I AM THE RAINBOW WRANGLER! I WILL RULE THE WORLD!"

Karolina groans. Nico rolls her eyes. Tommy opens his mouth to speak; to say something about him joining the team. Instead, a snide comment leaves his lips. "Is this seriously the level of superbaddies you guys deal with?"

"Can't always pick your enemies," Nico grumbles sarcastically. She looks to Tommy and smirks. "I don't suppose you'd like to help us teach him a lesson?"

Tommy blinks. Waits. _Grins_. He _teems_ with excitement, adrenaline making the hairs on his skin stand erect. "Let's get him…up to _Speed._ "

**_"When Blood is Shed…"_ **


	2. Halting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn’t normally fight with Billy—not after everything that’s gone down. The thing is, the moment Billy opens his mouth, Tommy’s mind locks on the fact that this is the most Billy’s talked to him since the mage has locked himself inside his head. And for a moment, he forgets the barriers that his brother has put up and Teddy and he have so-cautiously grazed.

The Rainbow Wrangler proves to be more of a challenge than Nico, Karol, and Tommy anticipate. Apparently he blinds people with the lighting in triangular prisms, then throws them as grenades. Nevertheless, the ‘Wrangler’ manages to destroy half a water fountain and holds a squirrel hostage. He nails Speed in the leg with one of those nasty buggers (evidenced by a gross welt on his calf) before Karol beams the guy with a pretty multi-colored laser and Nico utters the words, **_“Christmas Present,_ ” **which wraps the crook up in a pretty red bow.

 

Tommy spends the rest of the time running and returning traumatized cats that were caught in the explosions. Kids rejoice with an innocence he’d always wished he had, squeal with the fluffy kittens tight against their chests, and then hug him tightly like the gross pets with a mystified, “Thank you.”

 

Personally, Tommy hates cats. But getting the welts on the back of his calves are worth it, just to see the dorky kids happy.

 

“Nice job,” Nico revels as they watch the recap on the news. She grins, cuddling happily in Chase’s arms. Chase whoops, Molly and Klara squeal, and even Victor smiles a little.

 

Karolina sits beside him on the lawn chair with the First-Aid kit in attempt to bandage his leg. She smiles beautifully, shimmers in her eyes as she applies a mixture of Aloe Vera and cooling cream to Tommy’s injury. “If you hadn’t taken him out after I fired a shot at him, Nico wouldn’t have been able to tie him up.”

 

“Plus,” Molly chimes, “you look _so cool_ , Speed! Can we have secret identities again? I want to be Princess Powerful!”

 

“ _No_ , Molly,” Chase groans. “Superhero costumes are _lame…_ well, unless you’re Tommy.” He arches an eyebrow and examines the speedster more thoroughly. Or more particularly, his hair. “Do you really need a secret-ID? Your hair’s a dead giveaway.”

 

“I just tell people I bleached it first and Speed’s a wannabe.” Tommy sniggers. In a hiccup of time, he looks around to all his comrades—then stops himself. _Comrades._ Yeah, he thinks. That’s the right word. His heart is tingling and chest swells under their gazes and—he’s _smiling._ Grinning as big as Molly and Klara. Wow.

 

It only fades when Karolina messes with his foot and Tommy automatically yelps.  

 

She looks at him in concern. So…does everyone else, for that matter. “Are you going to make it home alright?”

 

“With a limp?” Tommy nods. “Of course. It’ll take me a little bit longer, but I’ll be home before the sun sets.” And still, they all exam his leg, each face contorting with their own form of concern (Chase actually scratches his head a little and makes this weird, giraffe-sort of face with ear twitches and everything) and Tommy catches himself staring back.

 

Finally Karolina nods, clearly satisfied with the answer. A smile decorates her face and she helps the speedster to his feet. “We’ll see you next week, then.”

 

“Next week?” Suddenly Tommy’s heart drops.

 

All the molecules in his body are buzzing so wildly he can’t _wait_ to come back and visit them. He had fun, Tommy realizes. He was on a team again…doing _good._

 

And up until that point, he forgot he’d be going home to _no_ fun, _no_ friends…no _life._ No Speed.

 

He would be going back to the Kaplans for another night, pretending he believes Mrs. and Mr. Kaplan when they insist he belongs, passing Billy’s room as the other teen stares out his window in a sickening depression and rotting in a tiny space with Altman until the end of time. Like prison. Like _juvie_ —he shudders.

 

“Shepherd,” says a near-quiet voice. It takes a moment to register as Victor’s. Nevertheless, the guy raises his head, some sort of _knowing_ in his eyes as he smiles wryly. “You can come back whenever you want. I think we’ve made it pretty clear you’re welcomed twenty-four seven.”

 

Oh, Tommy thinks. Right. “Oh. Right.”

 

“Just make sure the next time you soak Chase with soda, we’re there for it,” Molly pipes cheerfully, “I wanna be awake!”

 

“Hey!” Chase glares. Everyone ignores him.

 

“Um,” Tommy says instead. He’s not used to commanding full attention of a room—not unless he says or does something that apparently sounds psychopathic. “Thanks.”

 

“Tomorrow then?” Nico arches an eyebrow, evidently satisfied with the turn of events.

 

Yeah. _Yeah._

“Tomorrow,” Tommy agrees. “Bye.”

 

He zips out of the cellar, happy for the first time in months.

 

**xxx**

Billy’s home. Otherwise, _“Speed was recently spotted in downtown Sacramento assisting runaway children, Nico Minoru and Karolina Dean—”_ wouldn’t have been blaring on the Kaplan’s TV screen until later that night during the boring family dinner. Nor would the eldest Kaplan child be leaning on the kitchen counter, remote in hand and scowl across his lips.

 

Immediately, the tiny Kaplans run to Tommy’s side, each of the speedster’s hands yanked.

 

“Tommy, Tommy!” yells Kaplan #1, “Did you vibrate his head off? I bet you vibrated his head off!”

 

“No, you dork,” Kaplan #2 snaps, “Speed probably ran him around the world and used the Speed Force like the Flash!”

 

“Speed can’t use the Speed Force!”

 

“Yuh-huh! Why do you think it’s called the _Speed_ Force?!”

 

Tommy ignores both of them. Because really, Billy looks _pissed_ , remote clutched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles are white. From the couch, Teddy looks like he’s trying to find the nearest exit.

 

Tommy debates his choices: he could A: play stupid, or B: run—

 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Billy yells before he can stick to one plan. In the background, the mini-Kaplans bellow, _‘oooooh_.’ “Do you know what the news reports are saying? They’re wondering if the Young Avengers are reforming!”

 

“So?” Tommy snaps. He doesn’t normally fight with Billy—not after everything that’s gone down. The thing is, the moment Billy opens his mouth, Tommy’s mind locks on the fact that this is the most Billy’s talked to him since the mage has locked himself inside his head. And for a moment, he forgets the barriers that his brother has put up and Teddy and he have so-cautiously grazed. “Maybe this way the Avengers will stop hunting them down and separating them.”

 

“That’s not the point,” Billy throws the remote aside and stomps toward Tommy, who immediately zips to the other end of the room. Again, Kaplan makes a sound of rage. “We all agreed to stop acting out after Stature and Vision died!”

 

“You mean our friends? Cassie and Jonas?” _Breathe_ , he thinks. Tommy runs a circle around his brother and reaches for the refrigerator. If he doesn’t look at Billy, then he won’t raise his voice. Inhaling as hard as he can, he says calmly, “In case you don’t remember, I never agreed to that. Altman sure as hell didn’t _either_.”

 

The said blond tries to hide and become one with the love seat.

 

“Don’t,” Billy snarls, “bring Teddy into this.” Anger. Irritation. Distaste.

 

“I’m sorry, I forgot this was all about you.” Tommy _doesn’t_ want to get angry.

 

“ _I’m_ not the one—”

 

“Sitting around? Moping? Trying to pretend _none_ of this happened?” As the words tumble out of his mouth, Tommy forgets to restrain himself. Instead, he turns away from the fridge, a bottle of Gatorade squished in his fist. “Go ahead, Kaplan. Tell me the last time you and I talked.”

 

Billy makes this face, like it’s irrelevant, and tries to change the subject. That only makes Tommy _angrier._ “Listen—”

 

“No! _You_ listen!” Tommy runs up to his brother now and jabs a finger to Kaplan’s chest until it hurts. “You got me out of juvie because of Altman. You made me part of the team because you _had_ to. And I keep _telling_ you—we’re heroes. Or at least, _I_ am. Just because you feel like a fuck-up doesn’t mean you can force me to quit.”

 

They’re trembling a little bit—Billy and he.

 

Billy grabs Tommy’s hand before he does something stupid with it. The look in his eyes soften, breaths calming and slowing. “Fine,” he says evenly, “You’re right. We were heroes. But…we screwed _up_ , Tommy. We can’t run around and—”

 

“No! You _don’t_ get it!” Why, Tommy thinks, does his brother have to be so _infuriating_? “Listen to me. You’re not actually _listening._ But then again, why would you?” A laugh shakes out of his throat, sort of bitter, sort of terrifying and brings him to a high on his own misery. Tommy sets the Gatorade bottle on the counter. “You think I’m _stupid_ and everything I do is idiotic, and the only time you _don’t_ look at me like a lunatic is when I’m going along with one of your hare-brained schemes!”

Brown eyes darken, calmness lost. The moment he sees this reaction, the speedster feels his stomach churning. It’s empty and baron, like he’s yelled out all his frustrations but—he’s scared of the way Billy may have taken his words.

 

There’s a gust of wind and Tommy swears he can see their feet lifting off the ground, but doesn’t comment. Instead, Billy’s even angrier than before. “You think finding our mother was a hare-brained scheme?” _That it’s my fault everyone died?_ , rings from the sentence. It’s miserable and angry, but mostly the tone makes Tommy feel small.

 

“I think I’m either your brother or I’m not, Kaplan,” Tommy says back, voice cracking. He can’t _take it._ Not this life, not sitting here and pretending everything’s just fine, not…being _forgotten_ because Billy doesn’t need him anymore. “So just…just stop using it like you have _power_ over me and then dropping it the second you don’t need me anymore. Stop making me feel like I don’t fucking _matter._ It’d be better for all of us if I wasn’t around, anyway.”

 

Billy says nothing. Really though—what do you say to that? _Either you tell me I’m your brother and accept me or you’re not_ —that’s definitely something you can put on a greeting card.

 

Words caught in his throat, Tommy runs out of things to say. The mini-Kaplans finally shut up long enough to realize what’s going on, and Teddy has a hand over his eyes, still shrinking in his seat from utter shock.  

 

Tommy does the only thing that makes sense at this point: leave.

 

**xxx**

“You shouldn’t have yelled at him.”

 

“Why? Because he’s unstable? Because he could break at any point?” Tommy glares at the duffle bag sitting on his mattress and zips back and forth from the closet. From the corner of his eye he sees Teddy leaning in the doorframe, a look of disapproval over his face.

 

It’s enough to stop Tommy from packing; to stare at Kaplan’s boyfriend on the other side of the room. Teddy plants himself to the ground on both feet and shuts the door behind him. He moves, reaching out to grab Tommy—

 

“Don’t,” Tommy snaps, and he inches away from pale finger tips. He glares, body still tense and trembling.

 

It was stupid, he knows, to ever pick a fight with Billy. To say, _he had it coming_ would have been _stupid._

 

“You—”

 

“I said what you didn’t have the balls to say.” Looking Altman full in the eyes now, all Tommy sees is red. He’s shaking; it’s hard to stuff two or three of his shirts in the duffle bags (which, yippee-fucking-doo, belongs to the _Kaplans_ ). He inches further away from Teddy’s grasp.

 

“Did you mean it?”

 

That’s where he freezes. Altman’s—Teddy’s tone isn’t accusing, just…concerned. Curious, confused, and worried. Looking to the blond that’s nearly half his size, Tommy loses the _burning hate_ in his throat and stares Teddy, rendered speechless.

 

God, fucking _dammit._

“Did you mean it?” Teddy asks again, voice heavier. He reaches out and touches a hand to Tommy’s shoulder—who lets out a shaky breath. “Do you feel like you don’t matter?” Guilt glows in his eyes and he squeezes Tommy’s body tightly, like he can’t help but feel terrible.

 

“Of course I mean it,” Tommy spats when he finds his voice again. He’s _tired_ of walking around this house. He’s _tired_ of having to wait to get a response from Billy and _tired_ of being tied down to a life he thought would save him but instead scares the ever-living shit out of him because—because he thinks he _can’t_ leave and that scares him. 

 

Teddy’s silent. He scrutinizes every inch of Tommy and…it’s not like one of their late-night talks. In the leaving light of sunset, Tommy feels exposed. Andusuallyhecanhandlethat. But…not now.

 

“You matter to me,” Altman finally says. It’s quiet, but full. That heavy look reappears in his eyes and Tommy’s fingers curl against the palms of his hands. Long fingers trace his face, warm as they seek old battle wounds that makes Tommy feel revealed all over again.

 

It’s an intimate gesture. With Teddy’s hands simply grazing his skin and he’s not really _touching_ anything, butitstillmakesTommy’sheartflutterand _shit—_

“You matter to Kate, and you matter to Eli, this family, and…” Teddy hitches, but only for a second. Then, repeats, “You matter. To me.”

 

The air in Tommy’s lungs evaporates. The words—they float around the room and Tommy turns his head. Tries to hide his face.

 

For a while, there’s only silence as Tommy keeps his face to the mattress. He feels Teddy’s eyes at his back and closes his own.

 

“I’m leaving,” Tommy utters.

 

He can _feel_ the panic coursing through Teddy. “Tommy…”

 

“Don’t,” he snaps. “And don’t follow me, either. Please.”

 

**xxx**

 

Tommy leaves, but not far. He makes it down the street and sits down on a park bench. Ten minutes, he decides. There’s…there’s a cramp in his leg and he needs to rest. Fifteen minutes later, there’s a cramp in his other leg, too. It’s a bad idea to move.

 

It takes three hours until he finally admits he’s wrong, and knows that he shouldn’t have snapped at Billy the way he did. Not after Kaplan’s family took him in (he was bumming around the Avenger’s old mansion and bunking between the Kaplan’s family car, Cassie’s backyard, and one of Kate’s many rooms before Mrs. Kaplan extended the invitation). Not after…not after _Billy_ got him out of juvie.

 

Brother or not, he knows, Billy saved him.

 

He can’t be a brat. For Billy’s sake, he _has_ to be strong like the rest of the family.

 

Even if he’s sure being in the Runaways would be _so_ much better.

 

Even if it makes him happier.

 

Tommy shuts his eyes and lets the snow collect between his ears and on top of his head. He squeezes the duffle bag like a duvet and waits, until he’s just a Tommy-sicle in the snow.

 

He doesn’t run back.

 

Instead, the Kaplans’ blue SUV is parked on the side of the road, and mini-Kaplan #1 hops out of the front seat. Through bleary vision, the speedster sees mini-Kaplan hobble through the snow in a marshmallow parka and Sherpa hat, with two cups of hot cocoa in his hand.

 

He holds one up to Tommy and grins good-naturedly. “Dad says that you need to get into the car, or you’re in _big_ trouble.”

 

“Really?” Tommy snorts—but he doesn’t argue. Too tired to. Unfurling from his tiny speedster-cocoon, he collects the bag, tugs on the too-large sweatshirt, and tightens the hood over his head. He follows the waddling Kaplan and jumps into the backseat.

 

It’s a quiet ride home with Mr. Kaplan’s eyes focused on the road. Mini-Kaplan looks over the front seat and smiles at him fondly. He has, since the first day Tommy met Billy’s family.

 

“Mike,” Mr. Kaplan says lightly when they make it to the apartment complex, “Go tell Mom to heat up the dinner for Tommy.”

 

“Okay,” his son chirps, and soon, he’s crawling out of the front seat and hobbling toward the entrance.

 

Both Mr. Kaplan and Tommy watch the front door close before Tommy asks, “I suppose you’re going to tell me I was stupid, aren’t you?”

 

Mr. Kaplan isn’t as serious as his wife. He’s a bit more on the goofy side, making facial expressions Tommy _knows_ Billy has adopted and trying to keep order in the house. Right now, through wiry glasses and a thick scarf, Mr. Kaplan only rearranges his hat and looks at Tommy through the mirror. “Depends.”

 

Speedster Gods help him, Tommy thinks, looking up at the car ceiling. He feels weird holding the cup in his hands and waiting to be lectured.

 

The last time he was in the car with his father, Tommy thinks all of a sudden, all he remembered reading was fear. Disgust. Shame.

 

Right now with Mr. Kaplan, all he sees the man doing is counting the many sharpie scribbles on his leather seats.

 

“Rebecca and I know we can’t replace your parents, son—”

 

“Trust me,” Tommy interrupts all of a sudden—he watches Mr. Kaplan’s brow crease, then embarrassingly adds, “you replace them just fine. You’re ten times better than my parents ever were.”

 

“Oh.” Is all Mr. Kaplan says, then he rearranges his glasses. “Mike and Joshua told us you got into a fight with Billy.”

 

Tommy grimaces.

 

“He’s…locked himself in his room for the time being. Won’t even let Teddy in.” A weary smile floats across the man’s face and he readjusts his glasses.

 

“I suppose now you’re going to tell me to apologize to your son,” Tommy says evenly, voice edging toward a _no._ He crosses his arms, looks at Mr. Kaplan and tries to look bigger than he feels. Instead, with one look from Billy’s father, he’s shrinking in his seat again. “You can’t make me. You only took me in because I look like Billy—I can leave.” Go away and never, ever return.

 

To this, Mr. Kaplan frowns a little. He turns his head to the side, “It’s true that we took you in because Teddy vouched for you—” This is where Tommy winces, because really, _Teddy—“_ but that doesn’t mean Rebecca and I haven’t grown fond of you. We didn’t judge you because of your history, son.”

 

“You did a background check on me.”

 

“We did one on Teddy too after the…incident.” The man wrinkles his nose nervously like a rabbit and Tommy’s eyes remain on him.

 

“Yet you still took me in?”

 

“The good outweighed the bad,” Mr. Kaplan says airily. Like…like the fact he exploded a school isn’t a big deal, or the fact he joined a gang for two seconds is just a fluke. Like, he’s seen the same footage that Billy did of this morning and…likes _that_ better. “Rebecca, the boys and I…we consider you part of the family, Tommy. And we were going to wait, but we were hoping…if you stayed, if you wanted to be with us, we could—”

 

“Before you finish that sentence and make more feelings float around the Kaplan-mobile,” Tommy grows hot, red beaming in his cheeks. “You…would seriously…” _Adopt him_?

 

“We’d need to get in contact with your parents, but…yes.” Mr. Kaplan nods. “You’re already part of the family. Just…please. Would you consider giving us another chance?”

 

He doesn’t want to say yes—but he doesn’t want to say no. Quite frankly, Tommy thinks as the burning in his cheeks get worse, he isn’t sure _what_ to say. Another chance. Another _chance._ No one’s ever said that to him.

 

Not even his parents. Especially his parents.

 

As he loses himself in his thoughts, Tommy doesn’t register Mr. Kaplan getting out of the car. Not until the door of the Kaplan-mobile opens, and Mr. Kaplan extends a hand. In this man’s eyes, the snowflakes glow and stars glitter.

 

Tommy twitches when he’s been touched. Mr. Kaplan only chuckles.

 

“I can see it in your eyes, son. You don’t want to hurt my family—you _need_ a family. C’mon. Come on.” Jovial and enthusiastic as always, Mr. Kaplan pets Tommy on the shoulder and pulls him out of the car. Cold air hits Tommy like a punching bag. He shivers and caves into himself as all limbs peel out of the back seat, only to be protected when Billy’s father wraps a protective arm around him; something his father never did.

 

Mr. Kaplan holds his measly duffel bag and ushers Tommy inside.

 

Rebecca Kaplan meets them at the front door with another two cups of hot cocoa and a withered smile. She places a blanket over Tommy’s shoulders, kisses Jeff and him on the cheek, and hands him a warm mug. It’s big, in Tommy’s fingers, and he can’t help but feel amazed. The back of his throat clenches like a mothball, and he stares at his drink as it simmers.

 

“I hear someone had an eventful night,” Mrs. Kaplan says quietly. She looks down to him with no disdain, no irritation for what he’s done. Sitting on the table is a plate of homemade spaghetti and meatballs. It’s…Tommy’s favorite meal.

 

He stares at it speechlessly as they usher him into the seat, and plops down with the large plate in front of him along with a tall glass of milk. Teddy nor Billy are nowhere to be seen. Mini-Kaplan #1 has disappeared too, probably off into the computer room with Mini-Kaplan #2, so…it’s just them. Tommy and Billy’s biological Mom and Dad. The other parents that cancel out the somewhat-link that Tommy has with the Young Avengers.

 

But…he can’t remember the last time he sat around the dinner table with his parents and shared a meal. Not a happy one, with smiles, instead of Dad giving a look of _‘Why the hell are we having this shit for dinner’_ and Mom scowling with, _‘Just **leave** if you don’t appreciate it.’ _

 

But the warmth is palpable. It’s so tangible in front of Tommy as Mr. and Mrs. Kaplan take seats in opposing chairs that he wants to reach out and touch it. There is no disdain as Mrs. Kaplan uncurls his free hand and places a fork in it. Nor is there hate as Mr. Kaplan smiles and asks, “This is your favorite dish, right?”

 

Tommy almost forgets to speak. “It’s—I…y…yeah.”

 

“It’s the one meal you never miss whenever I make it,” Rebecca muses, and she dotingly readjusts the blanket over Tommy’s shoulders. “I assumed it’d be appropriate for this evening.”

 

Really, it’s a simple dish. But it’s the one that feels… _right_. It’s…the first meal Billy ate with the family again, after everything that had happened. He doesn’t mention that. Tommy twists his fork into the spaghetti and lets it linger in his mouth. It’s warm; burning and melting in his mouth before he swallows it.

 

He doesn’t know why, but he almost cries. Tommy makes sucking sounds, licking every bit off the fork and just sits there. He stares at the plate and feels the small bite ooze through his digestive system before settling in his empty stomach.

 

Mr. and Mrs. Kaplan only smile at him. It’s incredibly awkward, because they’re giving him attention a way that he’s not entirely used to, and Tommy readily tremble.

 

“Am I in trouble?” he asks quietly.

 

Rebecca reaches over and squeezes his knee tightly. Her smile widens slightly and she tilts her head. “Of course you are, dear.”

 

**xxx**

The majority of Tommy’s evening is spent answering questions from Mr. and Mrs. Kaplan— _Jeff and Rebecca_ , they insist he calls them—where he’s waiting for the moment they yell at him for provoking their son. He doesn’t get yelled at. Not for getting into a fight with Billy, not for appearing on the news as Speed. Incidentally the same news report, covered by someone else in the evening, appears on the TV and both parents take the moment to soak in the information.

 

They say nothing. Instead, they pick up right where they left off in the conversation— _“Is the spaghetti good, Tommy? I can show you how to make it, son.” “This is your fourth dish! You pack it away, don’t you?_ ”

 

And he wonders if this is how parents are supposed to be with their kids. Then again, the Kaplans are just sickeningly _sweet_ like that. For the first time since he’s moved in with them though, Tommy can’t help but _like_ it. It’s weird, seeing two grown adults as their faces contort in concern for him, but it’s…pleasant. Leaves his chest tingling.

 

He asks how much of the argument they know.

 

They tell him _Teddy_ is the one who informed them of the situation, after Mike and Joshua babbled their own version of the story. And at the mention of their perfect almost-son-in-law, they release him.

 

“He’s worried about you,” Jeff explains cryptically, and the side of Tommy’s face ghosts with the touch from before.

 

The intimate one.

 

The touchy-feely one.

 

The… _wrong_ one.

 

Tommy numbly thanks both parents, who decide the best punishment for him would be no more stealing Teddy’s clothes (Tommy hopes he isn’t blushing—they’re _comfortable_ , he explains in a weak voice, but they brush over that compliment and continue on) and how he has to wear the dinky t-shirts and pants the Kaplans bought him. Maybe get a job. But they’re set on the idea of him going to school with Teddy and Billy and he’s too exhausted to argue.

 

It’s the first heart-to-heart he’s had with them—with _parents_ —ever. And it sucks because he likes it.

 

He wants to run back to the Runaways and explain everything that’s happened. To just…be _Speed_ again, but for some reason, the idea of putting that uniform on at this time of night makes him sick to his stomach.

 

Billy stops him as he enters the hallway.

 

They stand parallel to each other, and Tommy sees Billy for the first time in hours. Since their argument.

 

There’s no hate. The feeling in Tommy’s chest slowly dissolves as he sets eyes on the other teen, and his jaw clenches tightly until it hurts. Suddenly he finds it hard to breathe, with the heat flooding to his ears. But he can’t bring himself to be angry because—

 

Because Billy looks exactly the same, with a somber gaze and eyebrows pinched together. They look each other up and down, and Tommy has no idea what to expect. Then, faster than even _he_ can process, Billy wraps an arm around him. Both arms, around the speedster and tight, with his nose buried deeply into the crook of Tommy’s neck.

 

Tommy’s stunned. Billy shakes against him, his clinch becoming tighter, so—

 

“Hey—Kaplan—” Tommy’s voice strains and he tentatively rests a hand on Billy’s back. From the corner of his eye, he can see Teddy at the door, observing with a quaint eye that makes his heart thrum. Gently, Tommy relaxes into the grip and even holds on tight.

 

He doesn’t know when it starts, but then Tommy’s shaking, too.

 

“I’m sorry,” Billy murmurs in a tight voice at his shoulder. Something warm and wet soaks Tommy’s shirt and it makes him feel like _shit._

“Dammit,” he hears himself say, “Don’t cry—”

 

“You matter,” Billy interrupts. He pulls away and looks Tommy solidly in the eye, grip tense on his shirt. Billy makes choking noises again. “You matter, okay?”

 

Ebony eyebrows pinch together and Billy’s fingers curl. His eyes are still wet with tears and he looks like he’s about to break at any moment. Tommy stares at Billy—his _brother_ —in shock.

 

“I’m sorry I’ve made you feel like shit,” Billy continues, and Tommy wonders just how much of Billy is fully _there_ , compared to this afternoon and compared to the rest of the last month and to the last _year._ Billy sucks in a breath and backs away, but doesn’t let go. Tommy searches his face to find the hidden joke or the bit of anger and slap that he deserves, but it’s not there.

 

Instead, Billy shakes his head.

 

“I don’t want that. I don’t want to _lose_ you. You’re my brother, Tommy.” A hand squeezes Tommy’s arm. Billy’s expression doesn’t change. “You…you matter.”

 

It’s heart-wrenchingly hopeful and fearful that the moment he lets go, Tommy’s going to run away again. He stares at his brother—the person that is his _savior_ and who means _everything_ to him and…he knows he can’t.

 

“Okay,” Tommy says. “Okay.”

 

He knows he can’t leave. 


End file.
